


Lunch Date

by rosehips



Series: Barson tropes [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, also apologies for the lame title of this fic, but also:, i'll try to think of something better later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 18:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehips/pseuds/rosehips
Summary: Olivia forces herself to smile.Look how happy he is,she thinks.Be happy for him.The manmakes Rafael laugh, and get excited about ideasand happy about the future, so she can’t hate him. At least not completely.{Trope: misunderstanding/jealousy.}





	Lunch Date

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to Alex and Rís! And to Karen for the [inspiration](https://twitter.com/karenfossile/status/978243914502234113).
> 
>  

It’s a near-perfect day, in Olivia’s opinion, as she heads to the cafe. Blue sky, cool air, slight breeze — she’s been planning to drive, but decided instead to take a taxi most of the way and walk the rest, just to enjoy the weather. She’s too happy to feel silly about the spring in her step: it’s Friday, it’s beautiful out, and she’s going to have lunch with Rafael. 

A quick lunch, sure. Casual, yes — he’d let her know where he’d be, she let him know she’d try to drop by — but still. 

Apparently it’s his favorite place to eat near work these days, just off NYU’s campus. He teaches law there as of August, and it’s only October now but it’s clear how well it suits him. He’s happier than she’s seen him in ages, and wholly transformed from the grief-stricken man who’d said goodbye to her in February. Different from the version of him who’d come back in May, too. He’d been apologetic for the infrequent texts, but hopeful about the future in a way that soothed her heart and made it swell. 

Since then, they’ve formed new habits together. 

Drinks at Forlini’s have been replaced by ones at a low-lit bar he’d stumbled upon near her place one night. 

< _ Have you been to Horse & Hare? _ > Rafael texted one night in June, a few minutes after leaving her apartment where they’d just shared dinner. < _ Bar a few blocks down from you. _ >

< _ Sounds pretentious. _ > Olivia frowned at her phone. < _ You said you didn’t want a nightcap. _ >

< _ I don’t, just looking. And it is. _ >  
< _ Pretentious, I mean. _ >  
< _ I like it. _ >

She laughed and rolled her eyes. Of course he did. < _ We’ll have to try it out sometime. _ >

It turned out that she liked it too, which she admitted despite his inevitable smugness. She liked that it was a little quiet, just soft jazz playing under low chatter from a clientele mostly over 30 (at least on weeknights, when they tended to go). She liked the low lighting and deep leather booths she could practically sink into at the end of a long day. She liked the oak tables and the way Rafael would rest his forearms on them as he listened intently to whatever she was saying; and the copper-topped bar where they’d sit close enough that their arms brushed. 

The wine was pretty good, too. 

She’d invite him over on nights she just wanted to be home. He’d started cooking for her. “I haven’t had time to make this for ages,” he explained when he first started, brushing off her offer to order food so he didn’t have to make any. The result had been decent fish tacos, and the next time he made them they were great. 

“I’ve been practicing,” he winked when she commented on the improvement, and something about his face in that moment made her heart skip a beat. 

Between dinner at her place and drinks at the bar, they’ve been spending at least one evening together — usually two — every week over the past few months. He’s taken to kissing her on the cheek when they say hello and goodbye, and now and then she’ll push his hair back from his forehead and tell him he needs to get it cut, but aside from that there’s nothing new. 

Still, the way they’ll brush arms or touch each other’s backs feels different now than it did when they worked together. Easy and comfortable, yes, but more intentional. There’s a charge between them, and they’re enjoying how they can take their time as it begins to spark. 

Or at least she thought they were. 

Now her throat is tight and her tongue bitter because she’s walked through the door of the cafe to find him sitting in the same booth as another man. The same side of the booth, not across from each other like he always sits with her. A very handsome man. And  _ their _ arms are brushing, and Rafael’s laughing at something the man said, and his smile should be infectious but it’s not. Even when it grows when he sees her and gestures her over.

She manages to force one in return and she hopes it looks sincere — he doesn’t seem to notice it’s not, anyway. Which only makes it worse. 

Blocked in by the other man, Rafael half-rises in his seat to introduce them. “Liv, this is Mateo Rivera. He teaches Literature at NYU. Mateo, Olivia Benson of Manhattan Special Victims Unit. We used to work together.”

“Pleasure,” Olivia says, shaking Mateo’s offered hand.  _ We used to work together. _ Is that all? She wants Mateo to say something like  _ I’ve heard all about you _ , or  _ It’s great to finally meet you _ , but it sounds like Rafael hasn’t so much as mentioned her. 

“We ran into each other on my way here,” Rafael is explaining, “and I thought I’d invite him along. Hope you don’t mind.” His smile is charming as always, and so is Mateo’s. 

“Of course not,” she says brightly. “I haven’t met any of Rafael’s new coworkers before. Is he any good at teaching?”

Mateo chuckles. “We don’t have any of the same students yet, but from what I hear he’s pretty great.” 

Rafael smirks. “Well, we’ll see when the performance reviews come in at the end of the semester. They may not like me as much after I grade their final papers.”

“Ah, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Mateo says. “You’ll be the more popular Mateo in no time.”

Olivia shoots her friend a questioning look.

“My middle name,” he explains. “He thinks it’s funny.”

“It is,” Mateo says. 

“Because it doesn’t suit me,” Rafael says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s too…  _ rugged.  _ It fits  _ you  _ much better,” he adds to Mateo.

_ They’re flirting,  _ Olivia thinks. For half a second she’s numb, and then she begins to feel angry. It doesn’t help when Mateo laughs and claps Rafael on the back. To her relief, though, his hand doesn’t linger there but returns to the table, which she belatedly notices is covered with notebooks and papers. 

_ Thank god. Something else to focus on _ . “What are you working on?” she asks. 

Rafael brightens up even more, and despite everything she feels a flash of happiness too. It disappears when he speaks. 

“Mateo and I are brainstorming a new course,” he explains. “Chicano studies with a focus on law, politics, and literature.  It was my idea,” he adds with a touch of smugness, “but they wouldn’t let a new adjunct create a whole new course, so Mateo is helping out.” There’s a distinctly teasing tone in his voice that she doesn’t like. 

“Rafael is only friends with me because I’m tenured,” he jokes. 

“That, and you know a bit about literature.”

“Yeah, a bit,” Mateo laughs. 

Olivia forces herself to smile, and tries not to think about how most of Rafael’s literary jokes and references fly straight over her head.  _ Look how happy he is _ , she thinks.  _ Be happy for him _ . 

She wishes she had food or coffee, something to do with her hands — almost as soon as the thought comes to her, Rafael pushes his plate over and gestures for her to snack on his fries. She shoots him a grateful smile. “So you’d be teaching it together?” she asks Mateo. 

“If the provosts sign off on it, yeah,” Mateo nods. “We’ll have to deal with some politics between the law school and the College of Arts and Sciences, but we’ll work it out.”

“They can’t be as bad as 1PP and the D.A.’s office,” Rafael says wryly. It’s rare that he’ll mention, let alone joke about, his old boss, and Olivia wants to reach across the table and squeeze his arm. She doesn’t. 

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be a great class.” She eats a few french fries so she doesn’t have to come up with anything else to say.

“I think so,” Mateo agrees. He starts to gather up his notes. 

“Oh, are you heading out?” Olivia asks. She hopes she doesn’t sound pleased at the prospect, because she is.

But it’s Rafael who nods. “We both have three o’clock classes,” he explains. 

It’s only two, and his office can’t be more than ten minutes away, but she refuses to ask why he’s choosing to leave now. Refuses, too, to wish she’d arrived earlier, because that would have meant more time with _Mateo._ Mateo, who is helping Rafael gather up his notebooks with a casual ease that makes her want to hate him, except he makes Rafael laugh and get excited about ideas and happy about the future and so she can’t. At least not completely.

“Well,” she says, standing awkwardly as the two men file out of their side of the booth, “have a good day. It was nice to meet you, Mateo.”

“Likewise,” he smiles. He glances at Rafael, who’s gathered up their dishes and is taking them to the counter. Once Rafael is out of earshot, Mateo leans in. “You know,” he tells Olivia conspiratorially, “I think I’ve seen him smile more in the ten minutes since you came in than in the entire time I’ve known him.”

It’s like he’s knocked the breath out of her. “Oh,” she says faintly.  _ Oh.  _

Mateo grins. “I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he says, raising a suggestive eyebrow, and this time Olivia’s smile to him is sincere.

It widens when she feels Rafael’s hand on her lower back. “I can’t do dinner Saturday,” he says, “but I was thinking Sunday we could take Noah to the zoo? It’s family day.”

He’s removed his hand and is arranging a light green scarf, entirely unnecessary in this weather, artfully around his neck. He seems oblivious to the meaning of the words that have just fallen from his mouth.

“Family day,” Olivia repeats.

Rafael glances up from straightening his lapels. “Yeah, they’ll have games, he’ll love it.”

_ I love you,  _ she thinks, and the feeling is so strong it fills her to her throat — she almost says it out loud, but doesn’t. Not yet.

“Sure.” She manages to sound casual. “That sounds great.”

He smiles. “Alright, see you then,” he says, and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. 

_ He loves me,  _ she thinks as she watches Rafael and Mateo leave. She thinks of the imagined scenes that had been torturing her just a few minutes ago: the two men staying up late poring over books as if they were case files, sharing drinks on an office couch, meeting at a coffee cart and walking side by side to work… The idea of it doesn’t bother her anymore. 

You don’t fall in love with everyone you work with, after all. And Rafael is already in love anyway.

She resists the urge to touch her hand to her cheek where he kissed her, but she doesn’t bother to hold back her smile as she steps out into the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended to draw this out a lot longer and include way more tension and jealousy, but I just couldn't. I am so weak lately and almost entirely incapable of writing anything unhappy. So I'm just gonna keep doing stuff like this until canon is completely buried in fluff. Hopefully that is amenable to y'all.


End file.
